Read Online Double Eagle by Dan Abnett - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dan Abnett
Tags: Warhammer 40k
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Wolfcubs and Cyclones, cheerful scenes from base formals and dinners, a picture of Eads with old man Belks. A tattered Commonwealth flag was suspended in pride of place over the fireplace.
Eads was sorting data-slates and charts into filing boxes around his desk. He was a short, wiry man in his sixties, his grey hair shaved so short it looked like metal filings coating his scalp. Little, round dark glasses covered his eyes.
“Make yourselves known,” he said. “It’s you, Heckel, am I right?”
Eads had been blind for nineteen years. He had refused augmetic optics. There was a dermal socket behind his left ear which allowed him to plug into operation systems and “see” tactical displays during sorties, but that was the only compensation he made for his disability. The plug was in now, permitting him to identify and sort the data-slates using the code-reader sitting on the desk.
“It is, sir,” said Heckel. “And Pilot Cadet Darrow.”
Both men saluted with special formality. Long ago, Eads had decided that men probably weren’t bothering to salute him properly because he couldn’t see, and had taken to saying “Call that a salute?” to anyone who visited him. As a consequence, everyone saluted him with more care and correctness than they did sighted officers.
“Call that a salute?” Eads said, and smiled. “Make yourselves easy. Hello, Darrow. Are you recovered?”
“Yes, commander.”
“Good to hear it. They want me to pack up and leave. The Navy. I suppose I should be thankful for their coming, but it sits uneasily.”
Eads rose, unplugging himself from the code-reader, and walked around the desk. He used a sensor cane, topped with the Enothian crest in worn silver, which trembled in his hand if he came too near to obstacles. He hardly needed it in his own office, he knew the layout perfectly. Eads walked over to the fireplace and touched the edge of the old flag. Then he pointed at some of the framed hololiths.
“Company dinner, wintertide 751. Wesner looks particularly pissed in that shot, doesn’t he? His cravat is terribly skewed. That’s… that’s Jahun Nockwist, standing next to his Magog, with his fitters. Old Greasy Barwel and his team, Emperor bless them. There, that’s Humming Bird, my first Cub. Bad old lady. Dropped me in the Sea of Ezra after a flame-out in ’42. I imagine she’s still down there, crusted into some reef.”
He turned to face them. “Am I correct?”
“Yes, commander,” said Heckel. “Every one.”
Eads nodded. “I only know because I remember where I hung them.” He took one of the pictures off the wall, weighed it in his hand, and then carried it over to the desk. It went into one of the boxes. “I don’t suppose I’ll hang them in my new office, wherever that ends up being. Barely any point. I won’t be able to see them. I mean, remember how they looked. Might as well nail empty frames up. Still, I should take them.”
Eads was still for a moment, deep in thought. Then he swung his dark lenses round at them again.
“I imagine this is about the re-assignment, Darrow.”
“Yes, sir. I’m disappointed to say the least—”
“I’m sure you are, cadet. I damn well would be. But I’m not going to change my mind. With the losses yesterday, we’ve scarcely got enough serviceable K4Ts to keep even twenty of the 34th flying, and that’s with pilots sharing Cubs between sorties. We’re scaling the wing down, we have to. Once we’ve shipped out to another field, we need to trim the numbers. Some pilots will remain active… pretty much Vector Flight and Quarry Flight. Others will be stood down for the time being. Experienced pilots get priority, Darrow. I’m sorry. Hunt Flight was a cadet section. And—forgive me for putting it so bluntly, Heckel—there are precious few of Hunt left. Darrow, you’ll be reassigned to ground duties, and probably moved back to Zophos Field or Enothopolis in reserve. It’s just the way it has to
Eads was sorting data-slates and charts into filing boxes around his desk. He was a short, wiry man in his sixties, his grey hair shaved so short it looked like metal filings coating his scalp. Little, round dark glasses covered his eyes.
“Make yourselves known,” he said. “It’s you, Heckel, am I right?”
Eads had been blind for nineteen years. He had refused augmetic optics. There was a dermal socket behind his left ear which allowed him to plug into operation systems and “see” tactical displays during sorties, but that was the only compensation he made for his disability. The plug was in now, permitting him to identify and sort the data-slates using the code-reader sitting on the desk.
“It is, sir,” said Heckel. “And Pilot Cadet Darrow.”
Both men saluted with special formality. Long ago, Eads had decided that men probably weren’t bothering to salute him properly because he couldn’t see, and had taken to saying “Call that a salute?” to anyone who visited him. As a consequence, everyone saluted him with more care and correctness than they did sighted officers.
“Call that a salute?” Eads said, and smiled. “Make yourselves easy. Hello, Darrow. Are you recovered?”
“Yes, commander.”
“Good to hear it. They want me to pack up and leave. The Navy. I suppose I should be thankful for their coming, but it sits uneasily.”
Eads rose, unplugging himself from the code-reader, and walked around the desk. He used a sensor cane, topped with the Enothian crest in worn silver, which trembled in his hand if he came too near to obstacles. He hardly needed it in his own office, he knew the layout perfectly. Eads walked over to the fireplace and touched the edge of the old flag. Then he pointed at some of the framed hololiths.
“Company dinner, wintertide 751. Wesner looks particularly pissed in that shot, doesn’t he? His cravat is terribly skewed. That’s… that’s Jahun Nockwist, standing next to his Magog, with his fitters. Old Greasy Barwel and his team, Emperor bless them. There, that’s Humming Bird, my first Cub. Bad old lady. Dropped me in the Sea of Ezra after a flame-out in ’42. I imagine she’s still down there, crusted into some reef.”
He turned to face them. “Am I correct?”
“Yes, commander,” said Heckel. “Every one.”
Eads nodded. “I only know because I remember where I hung them.” He took one of the pictures off the wall, weighed it in his hand, and then carried it over to the desk. It went into one of the boxes. “I don’t suppose I’ll hang them in my new office, wherever that ends up being. Barely any point. I won’t be able to see them. I mean, remember how they looked. Might as well nail empty frames up. Still, I should take them.”
Eads was still for a moment, deep in thought. Then he swung his dark lenses round at them again.
“I imagine this is about the re-assignment, Darrow.”
“Yes, sir. I’m disappointed to say the least—”
“I’m sure you are, cadet. I damn well would be. But I’m not going to change my mind. With the losses yesterday, we’ve scarcely got enough serviceable K4Ts to keep even twenty of the 34th flying, and that’s with pilots sharing Cubs between sorties. We’re scaling the wing down, we have to. Once we’ve shipped out to another field, we need to trim the numbers. Some pilots will remain active… pretty much Vector Flight and Quarry Flight. Others will be stood down for the time being. Experienced pilots get priority, Darrow. I’m sorry. Hunt Flight was a cadet section. And—forgive me for putting it so bluntly, Heckel—there are precious few of Hunt left. Darrow, you’ll be reassigned to ground duties, and probably moved back to Zophos Field or Enothopolis in reserve. It’s just the way it has to
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